Alcohol Sweeps Troubles Away Like A Broom!
by Mysterious Loser
Summary: Lezard-centric. It hadn't been Lezard's plan to get drunk that night. He actually hated drinking. But after seeing the love of his life kiss that silly boy in the meadow, he didn't at all mind that his cider had been swapped for something stronger. LezLen


**Disclaimer: **I don't own Valkyrie Profile or its characters. …Sadly enough. If I HAD, Lezard and Lenneth would've been together in an instant. Oh, and the title came from out of Persona 2. I don't own that, either, but I thought that the title was fitting.

**A/N:** I have no idea what I'm doing. I wrote this after playing the PSP version (Though I'm a diehard fan of the original PSX and the PS2 games), and this just came to me. It's basically a long ramble about Lezard (or, should I say, _Lezard's_ long ramble) after seeing Lenneth and Lucian share a kiss in the meadow. Spoilers for all!

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**Alcohol Sweeps Troubles Away Like A Broom!**

**\/\/\/**

He had originally been there to obtain a substance of ethanol, and, not being a wine connoisseur himself to keep any on hand, thought the tavern to be the best place to extract a sample for his highly flammable experiment. He didn't want to appear as a petty thief, however, so he ordered a glass of cider to pass the time until he could break into the back to take the ale keg. Now he was sipping on someone else's tankard.

He blamed it on the bartender, who appeared distracted, for the drinks between him and some other bar patron being switched. Lezard Valeth hadn't known it then, but once he quickly downed nearly three-fourths of the glass, he had passed the state of obtaining a mere buzz.

It would've been a silly thought, had it occurred to him in a sober state. He was the master of time and space, the top student in the near "prestigious high school" that was Flenceburg academy, and the great user of ancient magicks thought to have only existed in past times, yet, his alcohol tolerance was beyond laughable.

All thoughts of ethanol had escaped his mind while he finished his sixth glass.

Sixth? No, seventh perhaps. He hadn't kept count.

In fact, he wasn't even sure why he was drinking at all. All in all, he hated it. Of course, a glass of wine here and there was certainly acceptable, but to be surrounded by mere idiots, engaging in their imperceptive activities that they deemed "fun," and drinking cheap ale was a qualified negative in Lezard's book. However, getting drunk after one glass of hard liquor didn't leave him with room to complain, especially when it prompted him to order more.

Perhaps it was for the best anyway, he figured. It was a cold, winter night in Crell Monferaigne, snowing as it should be, and a drink was enough to make anyone forget the shuddering weather. Ha! For Lezard, the weather was the _last_ thing he cared to forget. There were much more important things to dwell upon, like how he always got what he wanted, but could never win.

Wait…did that make sense? No, no…Just more drunken thoughts from a drunken man.

No, wait, it _was_ true. He had been gazing through the eyes of the Philosopher's Stone and had seen something he wished he hadn't.

There had been the figure of a female angel with a face like porcelain, fragile to the touch—even _gazing_ upon the creature worried him that she would break and shatter!—with cinnamon colored lips that looked sweet but probably stung with a tasty sensation. Her crystal eyes appeared deceiving, mesmerizing, but dreadfully intimidating. And then there was her braided silver hair that ran like a river down her back, tied by a single red ribbon.

He had recognized her as the Battle Maiden Valkyrie, the Goddess whom he had spent many months trying to take as his own. However, she was not alone, and her male companion did not comfort Lezard any more than if she had been in Nifelheim. The two were in a beautiful meadow filled with weeping lilies, probably near Coriander, he surmised, recognizing the landscapes from pictures in books he had read, reminiscing it appeared, lined by mountains and overcast by a gorgeous sunset painted with orange and pink swirls of clouds.

It was not strange to Lezard to hear of a Goddess being locked away inside the soul of a mortal; the situation had presented itself when he learned of Silmeria. However, when the condition involved the Goddess of his affection to be reminded of her formal self through an old flame, it rendered him angry and at a loss for words, which was unbecoming of the Necromancer. If he had been nearby, he would've summoned a mighty storm to strike the boy down, a smoldering cloud of smoke transforming him into the leftovers of his remains.

But it had made no difference when Lezard watched her kiss him. His Goddess…the woman he had been pining over for all these months…He hadn't quite known _what_ to feel. _Ah, what an unexpected turn of events! Who would've thought that behind her cold and calculating demeanor, I'd end up with a rival in all of this?_ But the boy was from a past life with a past love. Lezard felt that it should stay that way.

On the contrary, now that the Valkyrie was remembering all that Odin had forced her to forget, the Necromancer was more than certain that his chances for an instant victory had been dulled down a few notches. _But only a few. The boy is simply a boy. Nothing more than that. I, myself, am of higher regard than he. It doesn't even matter that he has joined her ranks of Einherjar. Had the situation been presented differently, __**I'd**__ be in that same position even now._

Well, if it had been that simple, then why was he drunk?

Lezard could argue to himself that a simple swap of mugs had led to his impaired state, but had it granted the continuation of his drinking? Despite the fact that he was a far more powerful mortal than most, the point remained that he was _still_ mortal. He had spent many years pushing weak human thoughts and emotions from his brain, but they had appeared to have taken refuge in the small, distant void that was his heart. Drunk as he was now, they were willingly invited to come torment his mind accompanied by jealousy, failure, and, most of all, loneliness.

Jealousy? Was he certainly…jealous? Jealous of a wimpy blonde boy in red, toy armor? Jealous because the Necromancer had expended so much energy and time into creating what _he_ thought would gain him access to his one true desire, whilst this _boy_ did nothing more than say a few words and had garnered the Valkyrie's love in an instant? What an aloof way to put it! And failure? He had only just begun to fight.

But loneliness…That was a different one. Lezard certainly had never pictured himself as lonely. He was always far too busy with a new experiment or a new discovery to find time to be lonely, and there was his tower to tend to…well…that was a long _was._ Even _that_ was gone. Nevertheless, the word "loneliness" was a preposterous word—something that didn't even fit into his vocabulary.

Then he had seen her.

It was love at first sight, as cliché as it sounded, and Lezard knew right then and there that she would be his and his alone forever. He had never worked so hard in his life, abducting elves, creating Homunculi, and following his Goddess to the very edges of Midgard. He kept the Philosopher's Stone close to him, holding onto it for safekeeping in his own personal attainments.

Then Mysty stole his last Homunculus.

It was fine—quite fine, actually. He had gotten rid of her and stolen her dorm for his own to keep his creation safe and to continue practicing his experiments. It was there that he had seen his beloved and her lover in the weeping lily meadows, sharing a passionate kiss that Lezard knew was quite wrong. _It should've been __**me**__ standing there._

Ah, but that was beyond the point now. He was in Crell Monferaigne to find the last ingredient to complete his hypothesis. It was a new idea that would be another stepping stone to reaching his final goal, but he was silently bitter that a small trip for ethanol would backfire and send even the great Necromancer himself into a drunken stupor.

_More like __**stupid,**__ really. This is why I avoid getting drunk. It's true what they say about one who dwells more in the pools of truth when they are intoxicated than when they are sober. It puts a damper on my already darkened day._

But his thoughts digressed. He was a lonely man, whether he cared to admit it or not. He didn't find his obsession _wrong,_ so to speak. What was so bad about obtaining true love? And just because she didn't love him back right away didn't mean that she never would. She was not just a Goddess; she was a _woman_, too. He could see through her arrogance and her steel plated heart. Everyone needed love. Even the gods.

Lezard was just unfortunate enough not to catch the falling Valkyrie's heart before her old flame had. It was a shame, really, but somewhat of an exciting adventure. After all, if life was empty of all of its twists, turns, and gnarly bumps, why, it would be most boring indeed. Besides, he was Lezard Valeth.

He _always_ got what he wanted.

_I am not defeated yet._

Then he nearly teetered from his barstool and caught himself with one unsteady arm, his other hand slapped against his mouth. _I'm not going to make it,_ he thought as the contents of his stomach bubbled higher into his chest, giving a straightforward warning of anticipated nausea. He knew he shouldn't have had so much to drink.

When the feeling had subsided a moment later, he slid his head over the furnish of the wooden countertop, his temples cushioned in the crooks of his elbows as he began on a steady inhale and exhale of breaths, wordlessly telling his body to be off with itself and that he would not be so unmanly as to release all of the day's helpings onto the tavern floor. _I won't be doing this again anytime soon._

He didn't know why at the moment, but he found himself suddenly thinking of the weather. _It, without a doubt, is a much more desirable thought than that of heartbreak._ Heartbreak? Certainly not! Lezard chortled at the idea. Still, it was quite a chilly night. He dared not stare out the window now, considering the condition he was in, but he imagined endless snowflakes the size of pocket watches fluttering down to join their counterparts in the great, white blanket below.

It was cold, and he was shivering. It was probably because the alcohol in his system was messing with his nervous system. However, it was odd. He thought to have been completely numbed by now; yet, he was still troubled by the chilly air from outside as well as petty human concerns. This wasn't a problem. It wasn't a problem at all. All he had to do was blast the boy to pieces, sending each limb of him to different corners of the world. It was perfect.

Now he was not only drunk, he was angry, too. It wasn't like Lezard to get so angry. But he knew that already. It was the same kind of anger that he had felt when he saw the two elope in the meadow. It was the same kind of frustration when he turned to look in the mirror and thousands of questions ran through his mind. No matter how many colors Lezard Valeth tried to paint himself with, he still only bled the same color as everyone else. Even the gods could not help him now.

_Gods? How amusing. Was it not __**she**__ who preached that gods and mortals could not fall in love? I've done all that I can to prove her words untrue, and this interloper has done nothing I have, yet, he has __**still**__ managed to stay one step ahead of me. The chase continues, lady love. I have not folded my hand._

If he could stand upright, Lezard swore that he would chant the second most powerful spell he knew and be rid of Crell Monferaigne. _But isn't that displacement in itself? …I don't care._

One day she'd need him, he convinced himself. As gods needed mortals and mortals needed gods, he knew she'd need him. He was not so ignorant that he had no clear conception of what was going to soon take place between Asgard and the Aesir that ruled there. When the time came and she needed him because her lover could not be relied upon, he _would_ be there.

It made him almost forget the reason why he was drunk. So what if he was drunk? So what if he had continued to drink even after he realized that his swapped drink was really ale that was so strong it could possibly rival those that Aegir shared with his fellow gods? So what if all that drinking had done was bring up personal problems and uncomfortable thoughts that made even the powerful Necromancer himself shiver? Tomorrow was a new day. Once he was sober, he'd come back and steal the ethanol directly…petty thief or not.

He carefully slid himself off of the barstool, slowly bringing up a hand to straighten the crooked glasses on the bridge of his nose. He was uncertain that he would be able to make it out of the tavern without crashing into another table, but he did not bother to ask for help—mostly because his stomach was already agitated and he dared not open his mouth to further invite the rising contents to surface in another patron's lap.

Shuffling to the door, one step at a time, and using nearby chairs for assistance, Lezard found himself holding onto the latch that would bring him outside. It was quite nice there, leaning on the wood frame that was the door, but the bar was closing up and he would have rather spent the night in a bed instead of on the tavern floor. He was outside before he knew it and couldn't quite remember when he had exerted the pressure that opened the door to let him out into the bitter cold.

Instantly he was shuddering and his teeth were chattering uncontrollably. Even after he pulled his cloak up further around his shoulders, he felt everything but appeasement. He couldn't even walk without the support of the stone wall next to him, one shoulder balanced against it as he used his other arm to keep hold of his cloak. Deep imprints of his footsteps were left behind in the knee-high snow, and still the storm raged on, unremittingly.

_What time is it? I don't even know._ A brief thought occurred to him and he stopped in his tracks, turning his head about. _Where's the inn at, anyway? I don't quite remember._ This was displeasing indeed. Something as trivial as the inn's location was fleeting, and now he was stranded in the middle of the city, lost in a snowstorm. He figured if worst came to worst, he could cast a spell to start a fire, but would probably end up burning the buildings down in the process.

Besides, he had temporarily forgotten the incantation. He cursed his drunken state.

He pressed on, not quite sure where he was going. Lezard had never had the idea of becoming drunk on this wintry day, so the minute idea of keeping directions in mind had not seemed like a pressing matter. This foul turn of events just kept circling and getting worse. The Necromancer was sure that he had nearly two inches, maybe three, of snow on top of his head. If he could feel his fingers and knew he wouldn't aim and miss because of his state of intoxication, Lezard would have shaken the cold from his bangs.

Even more miserable now, he turned the corner, not really taking notice that the snow was getting much deeper than it had been when he left the bar. He didn't even realize how unpleasantly chilly his body had become, the delayed reaction time of the alcohol stirring in his system finally taking its toll. Since he had stopped drinking, the cursed effects were beginning to strike him with merciless punishment. Even his eyesight was far hazier than it had been when he walked from his stool to the door, which had only been a few simple feet away.

_I wonder…if I froze to death here and she came upon my wretched corpse underneath the mountainous feet of snow, would she invite me to join her ranks? Probably not. But if she showed herself to me, would she have a choice? I'm not so easy to get rid of._ Lezard found that he was chuckling, even though his face was stiff and numb. _I won't die here. It's a ludicrous scheme. Still, it would be quite the sight. Perhaps I can set myself up in such a position that my body could freeze that way._ Then a frown came to his hazy mind. _Only for blasphemers to desecrate my body. Blasphemers…I speak as though I am not one myself. Well…not that it bothers me any. And I wasn't __**really**__ the one who gave such a name to describe myself with in the first place._

The Valkyrie was a tough woman. And she was cold and prideful, too. It was that kind of personality that gave Lezard reason to unravel the mystery shrouding her, even if he had to somehow bypass the wall that shielded her first. He could not be brushed aside, even if she _did_ have another man by her side. It just made the chase all that much more aggravating…in a playful sort of way. …Did that even make sense? Perhaps he was too drunk to even think about what he was giving reason to.

Any normal man would be incensed to know that the very woman he desired longed for someone else. It was like a big, overwhelming love triangle. But Lezard Valeth wasn't just _any_ man. And if he gave up on her, what good would it do the research he had constructed since the first time he saw her? Would it give the Philosopher's Stone any reason, either? Certainly not. Normally, the Necromancer hated games, but if it was a game she was willing to present, it would be that game he would play. _But I must warn you, my dear, I love to cheat._

And then she was standing there, like a kind of mirage in the falling snow. Perhaps he had been drinking too much after all. What business would she have in a place like this? But no, she _was_ there, standing across from him in the snow, dressed in some kind of commoner's clothes. She did not appear battle ready at all. Why, if he had been in the state to do so, he would've snatched her up and ran away with her kicking and screaming over his shoulder.

Lezard's half lidded eyes stared at her whilst he kept his balance against the wall to whatever building he was in front of. She was most definitely real, not like a cloudy illusion that he had built up as a fabrication of the mind. However, the normally prepared Battle Maiden was not as he would imagine her to be. Evidently, she was hiding her identity from mortals, wearing a long dress that appeared neither shoddy nor rich.

_If this is a dream, it's a quite nice one indeed. But, if this is real, then it's much, much better._ Even for the moment she hadn't appeared to recognize him, most likely due to his disheveled state, but she didn't move from her position across from him. She did not look cold at all. Lezard figured that it was because her heart was already cold. She just continued to gaze back at him, face unmoving.

"Well, it _is_ a surprise, Lady Valkyrie…" he broke the silence, his words slightly slurred. Even as drunk and unstable as he was, Lezard was amazed that he could retain his natural pseudo style of proper speaking.

"How did you know it was me?" she said it with such an icy tone, the Necromancer was sure she had known his presence all along, but was doubtlessly hoping that he would not be aware of her. She appeared deathly disappointed.

"My lady, I could distinguish your beauty from thousands of miles away." He tried to give a small bow but lost his footing and caught himself against the wall. Lezard should've been embarrassed by his foolish performance, but couldn't find the gull to care.

"You're drunk," he heard her say.

"So I am," he chuckled, using his hands to prop himself up. His back slid against the wall. "It's not my fault, I assure you. I was tricked, really. I blame the bartender."

"I wonder if it's even acceptable to end your life."

"I would be most happy if you did," his smile only grew and he could feel his body sway, "then I could follow you forever."

"Indeed I would deny it!" she stepped away from him, the sound of her foot crunching into the snow becoming deaf to Lezard's ears. "The only one who would petition for your soul is Hel of Nifelheim!"

"Not even Hel herself could keep me chained from coming after you, love," his chuckling evolved into laughter and he sloppily adjusted his glasses, only to fall against the wall again, using his shoulder.

The Valkyrie was silent for a moment, most likely shaking her head. "You indeed are not only a defiler of souls, but a blasphemer as well."

"And that I may be." It was becoming harder to stand in the snow without toppling over. His legs were wet and numb from the snow, and the ale's effects were only intensifying. "But, nevertheless, I've lost my way to the inn."

"A good thing, perhaps," she said.

"Maybe it is, but there's still something I must do before I let myself fall into absolute drunkenness." Lezard found that he was becoming comfortable standing with one shoulder blade against the wall and his feet slowly apart, in a drowsy sort of way.

"I'd say you've already done that." Her nose was pointed heavenwards, haughtily. He loved it when she did that. It stirred certain emotions in him that were untouchable even by the most exciting of experiments he dared to conduct. He just wanted to reach over and grab her.

"Ah, then maybe it wouldn't be so bad to stay here. After all, you've already found me."

"It was not because I sought you out, foolish mortal," the Valkyrie spat back.

Lezard doubled over, the ill feeling returning to his stomach. "Then why _are_ you here?" he managed to choke out before his hand fled to his mouth in a desperate attempt to keep his body still and the contents of his stomach where they belonged.

She must've been watching him. He could feel her eyes burning into him as he stared at the snow. It stirred a small smile on his face behind his gloved hand as he thought about what she could be thinking even at that moment. _It probably isn't something positive, but, nevertheless, she __**is**__ still watching me._

"That doesn't concern you."

Again, the feeling subsided. _And a close call, too._ "You're quite right, my dear…" finding the strength to pull his gaze from the snow and look into her cold eyes, Lezard fell backwards against the safety net that was his wall, "…it doesn't." Throwing himself outwards, he staggered in the snow towards her, arms outstretched. "Nothing concerns me unless I have a concern in it myself, thus, making the situation concern me. You see, beloved, you _are_ my concern, as is everything else about you, which is why I'm here tonight, as drunk as can be, and here before you now."

He wasn't paying attention to the fact that she was slowly backing away as he continued to pursue her. There was a dangerous look on her face, but he was mostly concentrated on her eyes. Gods, how he loved her eyes. If he could pull them out and keep them for his own, he knew that he would. Of course, that would permit that he harmed her, and he dared not _ever_ to do that.

No, he would rather have _all_ of her, frankly, with no strings attached. That's why he had created the homunculus in the first place. It was the first step in claiming her for his own by branding her with a sculpture of his making. Well, it _was_ artistic, he thought, the way he had molded it into the liking of his one true desire, only to one day, perhaps, grow into something he had wanted with an undying passion.

He swore it to himself and that half filled tankard back at the bar that his next experiment would be a success, despite all past failures. And now here she was, before him like a dream willed into reality. Such a fortuitous turn of events! It was almost as though nothing could go wrong now…

…until he found himself back at the wall, palms firmly against the stone, feeling his body wretch until he lost himself to a violent frenzy between his body and his declining willpower.

Several minutes later, he had his back to the Valkyrie, one shoulder against the wall, and was finishing an unpleasant series of coughs that left his already sore throat swollen and his sides aching. Using his cloak to clean his face, Lezard wiped at his eyes, adjusted his glasses, and stood there, realizing that he was still as lightheaded as before he had had his own tragedy.

"Feeling better about yourself, I assume?"

It was meant to be taken as sarcasm. Lezard was surprised she had enough human experience to give any.

"A minor setback is all," he told her, body still turned away. "I suppose you've already realized that my tolerance for alcohol is nowhere near as strong as my tolerance for magic."

"Indeed," she said. "But enough talk, Necromancer. I have priorities to attend to and you are not one of them."

"How you pain me so," he chuckled, suddenly feeling better. He slowly pivoted around to stare back at the Valkyrie, pushing himself away from the wall. "Is it to see your lover then?"

For a moment, she appeared taken aback. "My…lover?"

"Of course, my lady. The one whom you shared your heart with in the meadows near Coriander. The Weeping Lily Meadows, to be more precise." He was again moving towards her, arms in front of himself, as though he planned to grab her. He wasn't really sure if he wanted to or not; he had other things on his clouded mind. "Is he really such a treasured soul that you'd desire his love over mine? Or is it because you've finally realized that humans are really equal compared to you _gods?_ After all, without your Einherjar, Odin himself has no chance of defending Valhalla. Even as half vessels, it's not so inanely impossible that one such as me cannot become just like you."

Babble. It all came as endless babble, even to his very ears. And what was he saying? He just _hated_ spoiling his own secrets. _Being drunk doesn't help me in such a predicament, does it?_ _It's all supposed to be a __**surprise.**_

"Defiler of souls, you are a drunken creature unworthy of being slain by me. I am no Death-Goddess, after all. It appears even as a remote idea to _think_ of taking your life."

"How arrogant…" Slowly shaking his head to keep from getting dizzy, Lezard stopped in his tracks, continuing to stare at her. "I think I've fallen even more in love with you, darling. How naïve you are, but I won't hold it against you. It would be wrong of me." Then he found that he was laughing. He wasn't quite sure why, but he was. _However, under the circumstances, I suppose it's not so peculiar._

"I care not of what you think of me, so long as you keep your distance and take leave of this place!" Again leaping backwards from him, the Valkyrie held a dressed arm up to the sky, as though summoning for something unseen to the naked eye.

"And go where?" he asked, still chortling. "I can barely move as it is without tripping over my own feet. It's quite evident that I can't do much, my love, so I don't see the necessity in calling your sword to your side."

She paused for a moment, looking at him with such hesitance, but, finally, she brought her arm back down. "For such a drunken man, you appear to be moving and speaking just normally."

"Ah, and I'd expect no less from a scholar such as myself. But it's my vision and my stomach that seem to be disagreeing with me. If only I could find my way to the inn and sleep off this accursed feeling, perhaps we could continue this badinage later." Then a wicked smile played at his lips. "However, since I _am_ drunk and lost, and _you_ are here, I don't see the harm in playing with the strings a bit longer." He found himself staggering towards her again, one arm held against his stone barrier to keep from falling.

The Valkyrie did not move for the moment, appearing to be carefully studying him and his sluggish movements. She was a strong woman, Lezard knew, and would not be reluctant to take her leave of him, and he would be left alone in the blizzard. But his movements were not in concord with his thoughts and he tried to move faster. Stumbling once, he caught himself against the wall, and he heard her snort.

"You've shown yourself at your weakest moment, Necromancer. Even beseeching the help of the most sympathetic god would be out of your reach. Comparing yourself to us during a time such as now is ludicrous."

"Either way, love, I am far more worthy of a choice than that boy of your liking."

He was slightly pleased when she fell silent, as though playing with his words in her mind. While she was distracted, he attempted to push himself upright and move towards her again. He _would_ have the last say before the night was through, this he swore.

"Lucian is…is just…"

"Is just a boy," he finished for her, suddenly feeling nauseous again. He ignored it the best he could. "Simply unworthy of your love."

"How could you know of him?" she asked, sporting a frown, but her eyes showed much curiosity.

"That is a silly question, my dear. If you are not already aware of what a devout follower I am of you, then I will _make_ you know it." He found that he was towering above her now, trapping her against the wall with his arms. No doubt by the face she was making that she could smell the alcohol on him. "I will not stand by to watch him steal your love whilst I fall into the shadows. A boy of the past should stay in the past."

"The past…" the Valkyrie's brows furrowed together, growing angry. "You'd be incapable of understanding the past, blasphemer, as one who merely dwells in obsessive desires. Lucian's heart calls out for something far greater than an outrageous passion sewn together by the seeds of lunacy!"

"And you're saying that you will be the one to answer his cries?" Lezard asked as he leaned in closer. He could feel her pull away, but the wall kept her bound to him. "For one so determined to keep gods and humans apart, you have no idea of _who_ you are do you?" He thought he had said that before. He couldn't remember, but he was almost sure of it. Of course, there wasn't much to remember as of now. There was just him, drunken as he was, and her.

"I am not yours," she said, icily. "That I _do_ know."

He stood there for a moment, staring directly into her eyes, saying nothing. When her words passed in and out of him several times before he grasped their comprehension, he muttered in a low growl, "We'll see about that."

Grasping her shoulders with his arms, he pushed himself down towards her, snagging her lips with his, quite forcefully. She seemed to resist, which was unsurprising to Lezard, so he simply pressed against her further. She made a low grunt, but it went unnoticed to the drunken Necromancer as he maintained his position, taking the time to breathe her in and taste her.

He thought he tasted honey, but he wasn't sure where it came from. Then there was the overwhelming smell of flowers—lilies to be precise. He was only so sure of it because of the direct image of his Goddess with the boy in the meadows. He had seen the wistful way they had moved about in the wind, their poison so eminent, he knew. After the breeze had died down, they floated lifelessly back to the earth that had bore them, left to live in their solitude. _That's why they're referred to as the weeping lilies, I suppose._ It was a fleeting scent, however. Like the wind almost. The petals of the lilies riding upon the wind—that's how she smelled now.

He wanted to run his fingers through her spun silver hair, but was afraid that she would struggle free and flee from him. As unstable as he was now, he knew that the task could be easily achieved. So he kept to himself, feeling content and comfortable being locked to his Goddess by passion and love—his love that bound her to him. He ran his tongue over her lips, realizing that they really _did_ taste like honey after all.

When he pulled back, not that he had wanted to, but because he was feeling dreadfully tired, he kept his arms on her shoulders. However, the firmness in his grip had winnowed away to a soft hold. Lezard found that he wasn't even looking at her anymore. In fact, he wasn't looking at much of anything. And he felt sicker than before.

The Valkyrie didn't say anything, either. Nor was she trying to resist anymore, which might have been a good thing for the Necromancer, had he been apt to caring. In fact, he had forgotten everything he had just said until now and the reason why he had kissed her in the first place. But the feeling was nice, despite the rising nausea in his chest. It made him feel even more lethargic and he slowly fell forward, resting his head on what appeared to be a shoulder coated by long, soft hair.

"What do you think you're doing now, you heathen?" but the words didn't appear as harsh as they were meant to be. Or perhaps Lezard wasn't paying attention to the tone in her voice. Instead, he dropped his arms from her shoulders and collapsed against her, giving a happy sigh.

"I do believe my body's gone on without me," he mumbled, eyelids closing. "I'm afraid I must join it."

"What? You—"

But sleep was nicer. The darkness thought so, too.

\/\/\/

When Lezard awoke, he wasn't face down in the snow like he had expected to be. Instead, he was quite comfortable, and quite coherent, staring up at a white ceiling. His eyes were a little hazy, and he realized that he no longer was wearing his glasses. Lackadaisically removing his arm from underneath the bed covers, he began to swing it about until it collided with something hard and he stifled a grunt. Turning his head, he saw the oak dresser beside him, his glasses neatly upon it.

Though his body protested, he commanded it to move and reached out for the glasses. When he had finally succeeded in obtaining them, he pulled his other arm from underneath the covers and put the spectacles on. For the first time since yesterday before the trip to the tavern, he could see properly again. Now that everything was taken care of, the only thing left to do was to figure out where he was and how he had gotten there.

He vaguely remembered his brooding and the encounter with the Valkyrie. He only even remembered that because of the passionate, one-sided kiss they had shared. It still tingled on his tongue thinking about it now. But he didn't remember coming back to the inn—he was sure that this was his room he was in now. He concisely remembered the large sword gash in the corner wall that he was staring at now. He had made a comment to the innkeeper about it and learned that a fight had broken out a while back.

Nevertheless, now that he had learned where he was, it was time to ask around and find out _how_ he had gotten there. Swinging the covers aside, he found himself completely dressed and without his boots. Peering over the side of the bed, he saw them standing straight up, as though it had been he, himself, who had removed them and set them there the night before.

Now things were starting to become more interesting.

Placing them on his feet and lacing them up to how he liked them, Lezard pushed himself out of the bed, and suddenly fell back down.

_Evidently, my body hasn't shaken the drunken feel. I should be careful, lest I let loose another round of nausea and become confined to this bed for the rest of the day._

As if on cue, a slow, painful feeling in his stomach awoke, and he lightly held a hand against it for a moment until the nasty feeling passed. Breathing in and out, he waited an extra second longer and then tried again for the door. It opened and he stepped out into the hallway. It took him another moment to remember if he was on the second or third floor, but as he walked down the hall, it slowly came back to him.

Lezard descended a flight of stairs, trying to recapture everything from the night before, his feelings, the drunkenness, and even the Valkyrie and those cold eyes. He ran a gloved hand through his hair, raking it back, and looked around for the innkeeper when he approached his desk.

"Is the innkeeper in?" he finally called out after a few moments of being ignored.

There was a crash from the back and a body jogged out to the front, wisps of gray hair frantically following behind. The innkeeper straightened his thick rimmed glasses and brushed a coat of dust from his suspenders and trousers.

"Begging your pardon, sir, I was in the back trying to reach a guest log from a while back. What can I do for you?" Then, taking a closer look when he had finished with his apologies and his eyes refocused, he gaped and said, "Why, you're the one from last night. Are you feeling any better?"

"I'll live," Lezard admitted. "Can you tell me how I got here?"

The innkeeper shrugged and looked out the window next to him, where several feet of snow blanketed the ground outside. "I can't tell you how you got here, but I _can_ tell you who brought you in."

"Yes," Lezard leaned in, "do tell."

"It was a woman, one with long, silver hair, and big eyes. She was quite an attractive woman, and she asked me if you had a room here."

_Woman with silver hair…There's no doubt about that. But…why would __**she**__ bring me here?_

"I told her that you did," the innkeeper continued, "and I gave her the key to your room after seeing how sick you were. I don't know how she managed to drag you all the way here, but I couldn't let her climb those stairs alone, so I helped her carry you to your room. She thanked me and closed the door, and that was the end of that."

Lezard had a goofy grin on his face.

_So, Lady Love tucked me in and removed my boots and glasses. How very kind of her. I must remember to thank her the very next time we meet._

"Pardon my rudeness, but did you happen to know that young woman?"

Lezard turned to stare out the same window the innkeeper had just moments before, imagining himself and the love of his life standing out in the cold, sharing words and a kiss. He had never thought her to be the type to bring him in out of the cold, even after her repeated declaration of hatred for him.

_She cannot say that she __**truly**__ hates me and then save my life when she could've left me to die. That woman…she never fails to surprise me._

Perhaps…perhaps there was hope for him after all.

"Yes," he finally said after a moment, "I know her very well."

**\/\/\/**

I hope you liked it. Please, RnR if you did, and, if you didn't, please don't flame me.

ML


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